


Feel Your Way

by genee



Category: Actor RPF, Music RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-10-19
Updated: 2006-10-19
Packaged: 2017-10-12 11:17:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/124288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genee/pseuds/genee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Chris steals the last drag of Michael's cigarette and flicks the butt away, closes his eyes and slides one hand down the front of his own jeans.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Feel Your Way

**Author's Note:**

  * For [coolwhipdiva](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=coolwhipdiva).



> Written for the incredibly thoughtful and generous coolwhipdiva, who specifically did not ask for this! Many thanks to without_me for helping out with all the finer points.

Chris flirts like he invented it, warm hands and big smiles and fingers twisted in their hair, women and booze and Michael's skin is all lit up with it, pretty blondes everywhere and Chris by his side like they hang out all the time, leaning in close to the girl he's saying goodbye to, kissing her cheek and murmuring something that makes her blush. Michael smiles and laughs, the back of his hand on someone's shoulder, damp skin and soft perfume and when Michael slips away he tells himself he just needs a minute, needs some air, needs to call home, maybe, but he knows he isn't going to, not now, not tonight.

He isn't going to do anything, just lean up against this wall and finish his beer, smoke a cigarette, but Chris follows him out and just leans there, too, so close their shoulders are touching, their arms. Chris steals the last drag of his cigarette and flicks the butt away, closes his eyes and slides one hand down the front of his own jeans. Michael's breath catches and Chris turns to face him, slides that same hand down the front of Michael's jeans, too. "I fuckin' knew it," Chris says, laughing. "They're makin' you crazy, right?"

"Fuck off," Michael says, grinning, wondering how he's supposed to get Chris's hand off his dick without looking like a complete tool. It'd probably be easier if he wasn't half hard already, if Chris's hand wasn't on fire, if he wasn't breathing right on Michael's throat, warm and boozy and making Michael's head spin.

"All those women in there, fuckin' gorgeous, right? The way they look at you, the way they keep touchin' you, fuck, like they just can't help it." Chris runs his knuckles over Michael's fly and Michael swallows, closes his eyes. Chris swears again, his voice all raspy, and Michael tries hard not to lick his lips.

"Chris," he says, and Chris palms his dick, fingers curling in. "Really, I," he says, which makes Chris do something with his hips, music drifting out from inside and Chris humming along with the singer, an old friend of his, someone he's known forever. Michael's met him before, he thinks. Once or twice. "Chris, I'm not--"

"Yeah, me neither," Chris says, and Michael almost believes him, almost, Chris's free hand flat against the wall, bracelets clinking softly, heat pouring off him and pooling in between. Michael's dick is hard against Chris's hand, heavy, and he's pretty sure he's leaning into it now, but Chris just shakes his head and laughs real low. "It's a fuckin' shame, though."

"Absolutely," Michael says, and Chris winks at him, goes back to leaning up against the wall, their shoulders pressed together just like before. Chris swipes his beer and takes a long swallow, and Michael grins, says, "But you'd be hot on your knees, man. Don't let anyone tell you different."  
   
   


\-- END --


End file.
